


Eyes Like Dark Hallways; Teeth Like God’s Shoeshine

by thatsrightdollface



Category: Homestuck
Genre: :o), Friendship, Happy 4/13!!!, Humanstuck, Introspection, M/M, Pesterquest References, Pesterquest Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:27:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23633080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsrightdollface/pseuds/thatsrightdollface
Summary: “Here's the man with teeth like god's shoeshine — he sparkles, shimmers, shines.  Let's all have another Orange Julius, thick syrup standing in lines. The malls are the soon to be ghost towns, well so long, farewell, goodbye.” —“Teeth Like God’s Shoeshine,” Modest MouseKarkat finally meets his old internet friend Gamzee in person.Humanstuck, but inspired by stuff in Pesterquest.
Relationships: Eridan Ampora & Karkat Vantas, Gamzee Makara & Karkat Vantas, Gamzee Makara/Karkat Vantas, mentioned others - Relationship
Comments: 18
Kudos: 67





	Eyes Like Dark Hallways; Teeth Like God’s Shoeshine

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there!!! I hope you enjoy this fic, if you read it~ I’m sorry for anything and everything I might’ve gotten weird, here. 
> 
> I wrote this because of that scene in Karkat’s Pesterquest route, where he ALMOST meets Gamzee but not quite. It's kinda a re-interpretation, in a lot of ways? I also love that description in Gamzee’s route, where MSPAR says his eyes are like empty corridors, with something angry possibly waiting at the end for a second... so, that’s where the title/some of these descriptions come from!!! Happy Homestuck Day, and thank you!!! I hope you're staying safe, and having a lovely day.

Karkat Vantas had seen pictures of plenty of his internet acquaintances before — honestly, it would’ve been harder to avoid Eridan’s selfies than anything else on whatever sites Karkat happened to sign up for. There was Eridan modeling a dusky new makeup look in pirate cosplay one second... and then there was Eridan in black and white gazing pensively out a window with coffee loose in his carefully manicured hands... and _then_ there was Eridan at a photo shoot with his best friend Feferi, wrinkling his nose up a little behind his thick-framed hipster glasses as he stuck neon crystals by Feferi’s eyes so she’d look properly bioluminescent. They were doing a sort of mermaid shoot, that day. Karkat read all about it, slumped over his phone on the train. 

Karkat had never even seen the ocean, thanks very much, though a lot of his internet acquaintances lived over that way, too. Plenty of pictures of sand between Feferi’s toes, or updates on the surfing classes she was teaching. The smell of salt in the air; shells hung on a string and mailed to Karkat along with expensive birthday gifts he felt guilty unwrapping. And Karkat had never seen the internet acquaintance... alright, fine, the _friend_... he was going to meet at the mall that day. Not really. 

Well, Gamzee Makara _had_ posted one picture of himself, years ago. It had been blurry, and crooked — he was caught mid-laugh, high out of his mind at the Gathering of the Juggalos. His hair had been wild and long, all tangled curls down his back, hanging soda-sticky into his face. His smile had been messy but effortless, with smoke spilling out into the air around him. _His clown paint_. Karkat had gotten a vague idea of Gamzee’s clown paint, and his easy, terrifyingly vulnerable joy. Karkat had scrolled away from that picture quickly, but at the time he hadn’t been able to understand why. 

Karkat was going to meet Gamzee in the mall that day, and he kept telling himself he wouldn’t fucking run away, this time. This wasn’t like when their mutual friend had said Gamzee was in town — traveled all the way over from the beachside mansion Karkat knew he lived in to see a concert — and if Karkat wanted they could drop by and surprise him at his hotel room. Their mutual friend’d had a key already, and let Karkat right in. Said Gamzee was out picking up food, but he’d be back, and the more the merrier. Gamzee would be over the moon to see him; he’d been coaxing Karkat to come visit, or to let _him_ come visit for actual years. He’d probably skip his concert completely, if he thought Karkat wanted to hang out with him. 

They’d been waiting in that hotel room for a while — browsing channels on the TV, checking their phones, and in Karkat’s case _really purposefully_ not snooping around Gamzee’s luggage at all — when there were heavy footsteps outside the door. Gamzee was a huge guy, Karkat knew, but only because he’d told him about it in passing over the years... Gamzee had to duck under certain doorframes, and not all stores carried shirts in his size. Yeah. So heavy footsteps... that made sense. Gamzee was fumbling with the key in the lock; Gamzee was close enough that Karkat could hear him mumbling, “Awww, you worked for this door before, not even two motherfucking hours ago... hmmmm...”

He was talking to his hotel room key. Goddammit, but Gamzee was talking in a sing-song, sort of encouraging voice down at his actual hotel room key. His voice was creaking and soft, like he’d just woken up. Karkat hadn’t known how to imagine it, reading his messages, but this made a lot of sense. Too much sense, maybe. He remembered Eridan’s warnings, that Gamzee’s family had a reputation around town for being unpredictable and dangerous. Fanatically religious... desperately wealthy, and desperately strange at the same time. The Makaras were a family of clowns, who’d been running eerie, possibly cult-ish carnivals way back when the country was new. The Makaras were hard to read, and even their mutual friend said Gamzee’s eyes felt like long dark hallways sometimes, with something unknowable watching you from deep inside. 

What if Gamzee was dangerous? That _was_ a question floating through Karkat’s mind, just then. What if getting too close to a person like Gamzee Makara put Karkat in danger, sure... but along with that — what if Gamzee hated him? What if any sort of friendship they had dissolved like seafoam, in person; what if Gamzee saw right through Karkat’s confident face and hated him just like he sometimes suspected he deserved to be hated? What if Gamzee stopped sending tangled, rambling peptalks when he knew Karkat was going to have a shitty day? What if he stopped calling Karkat his best friend, and asking him to come visit? What if he finally realized that no matter how much shit Karkat gave him from day to day, it maybe felt too good to be true that someone could actually cherish him the way Gamzee said he did? 

Gamzee poured out sweet words like that all the time. Telling Karkat he was amazing, telling Karkat his movie ideas were motherfucking genius and he was so lucky to know him. What if actually meeting Karkat changed Gamzee’s mind? 

Karkat cared too much, didn’t he? He could open himself up to Gamzee Makara and lose him; he could open himself up and let some clown with eyes like dark hallways hurt him, too. Eridan said Gamzee attacked a room full of people once, in middle school, before he and Karkat started talking. Eridan said Gamzee seemed gentle, but there was a crookedness in his family. Eridan said Gamzee left soda bottles on the beach, sometimes, which really ticked him off because, well... littering. Eridan said a lot of things, but none of them really changed the fact that Karkat had imagined Gamzee holding him. 

His arms would be soft, Karkat thought, and stable, and he would smell like the ocean and clown paint. But even the fact that Karkat had imagined that — the fact that if he got to meet any of his internet acquaintances at all of course it would’ve been Gamzee — meant that Karkat couldn’t do this. 

By the time Gamzee got the hotel room door open, Karkat had panicked. Backing away, shaking, begging their mutual friend to get him out of there. He couldn’t meet Gamzee. This was a mistake. He’d meet Gamzee and end up in way over his head, involved with some terrifying clown cult legacy; he’d meet Gamzee and never hear from him again. In the end, they shimmied out the high-up window in the hotel bathroom. It was all an awful blur, and Karkat definitely knocked Gamzee’s toothbrush onto the floor. He’d still use it later, Karkat knew. Gamzee was gross like that. 

How could Karkat know Gamzee so well, but also not at all? Gamzee messaged him about how the concert went later on that night, and Karkat thought about asking him for another picture. A better picture, taken to show Karkat what he really, actually looked like from day to day. Or a video call, even. Karkat thought about pulling Gamzee closer, but in the end he just made fun of him for something dumb. He felt like an asshole even as he typed all that angry stuff up, but he knew Gamzee’d just laugh it off. Gamzee usually did. 

That had been a while ago, now. Gamzee still didn’t know how close Karkat had come to meeting him; Gamzee had offered, as he often did, to come out and visit Karkat when he had a couple days off work. And this time, Karkat hadn’t said no. Why hadn’t he said no? 

It was because Gamzee was talking about a friend of his a whole lot lately. Somebody called Tavros. It was because sometimes Gamzee went days without messaging back, nowadays, and of course that meant he was just busy, but... ugh. Karkat wouldn’t have wanted to say it to anyone, but he was allowed to miss Gamzee, even if he still sort of suspected he might bolt and pretend he’d forgotten their meet-up time just the second he got to the mall. Who wanted to meet at the mall, anyway? Shopping malls were dying things, like cursive and the whole fucking planet. Maybe Gamzee was nervous to meet Karkat, too, and wanted lots of distractions around. Maybe Gamzee had shopping to do anyway, and Karkat was just along for the ride. 

There was a lonely kind of nostalgia, riding the sticky escalator up to the second floor food court. Passing by boarded up shops, and a Hot Topic, and a hair-cutter place where people got to feel like goldfish in a bowl, on display for all the other mall patrons passing through. Karkat hadn’t had the kind of childhood where he got to meet friends in the mall, just casually. Karkat hadn’t had in-person friends at all back then. It was complicated. He’d had daydreamed about the whole idea, of course — being the kind of well-loved, popular stranger who lots of people wanted to hang around with. The mall had seemed like a glamorous place, back then. Full of possibilities. 

Karkat was going to run, again. He decided _that_ the minute he saw friendly, chatting friend groups scattered around the food court. There was a novelty pasta restaurant, and a place that sold mostly fudge, and _Karkat was going to run._

It sucked that Gamzee had already driven all the way out here, probably... but he had lots of friends. There’d be someone else for him to visit, around here. Chahut, who he sometimes went to concerts with, maybe; Marvus, whose rap skills Gamzee could ramble on about for ages if anybody let him. Karkat had slipped out his phone and was starting to message Gamzee that he wouldn’t be able to make it when a deep, winding voice drawled from behind him, “Well hey, brother — you’re shorter than I thought, you know that? Haha, man... so good to finally all get to meet you, it’s like I’m dreaming.”

Karkat froze. Head down, shoulders tense. He said, “Gamzee?” before he turned around. 

“That’s right,” Gamzee said. “And you’re my best friend, since years ago. Since middle school, brother.” Gamzee cleared his throat. Shuffled awkwardly. How could Karkat _hear_ him shuffling awkwardly? How did he know without even looking that Gamzee’s shoes were plastic-y and ridiculous, enormous shoes on enormous feet? “You’re Karkat. Karkat Vantas. Want me to show you our chat logs or something as some fucking, I dunno, proof?”

“I know it’s you,” Karkat said. He turned around slowly — almost as slow as Gamzee’s voice. The guy in front of him was framed in stained yellowish mall light — it caught in the dark hair hanging down to the small of his back, and gleamed off his teeth. Gamzee was smiling so wide, so trustingly. He had brushed those teeth with a toothbrush Karkat accidentally kicked on the floor, likely as not. He was holding two milkshakes in different flavors. The fact that they were oozing down a little over his hands was probably the main thing that had stopped him from hugging Karkat hello. 

Gamzee had scars slashed across his face, now, that you couldn’t see so well through his clown makeup. That was one of the first things Karkat noticed. But then, his eyes weren’t too much like dark hallways at all, just then; they were warm and soft and silly, like Gamzee could start waxing poetic about how amazing escalators were at any second. He offered both milkshakes to Karkat and said he’d ordered one for each of them, two of the best flavors — he knew because he’d worked for the milkshake place for a couple months before they got mad at him for fucking up the register. Karkat could choose whichever he wanted, y’know? Or if he wanted something else, hell. They had lots of choices around here. Lots of people, too, so Karkat could be sure Gamzee wasn’t gonna murder him or invoke demons or anything. He knew what people said about his old man. And his brother. Cue a sleepy-eyed, playful wink. 

There were plenty of snarky things Karkat could have said right about then. This person in front of him wasn’t especially handsome, so why couldn’t he peel his eyes away, now? Gamzee’s joke wasn’t especially funny — it was kind of dark, and a little too close to Karkat’s actual, possibly-misplaced worries to be comfortable — so why was he laughing? It was a strangled, high-pitched laugh, but it was a laugh just the same. 

Karkat took a milkshake from Gamzee, even though it made his hand all sticky. He drank it, even though it could have been drugged. It wasn’t. They walked in lazy loops around the mall, past stores selling greeting cards, and religious paraphernalia, and the kind of dresses that came with extra buttons in a little baggy pinned to the sleeve. They talked, first haltingly — Karkat asking Gamzee what his drive had been like, and making sure to stay away from anybody walking too close to them... anybody who might judge him... and then evolving into something more honest. More like how they talked online. Karkat felt his voice unraveling like too many knots of yarn from the mall’s seasonally-decorated craft store, but after a while he stopped trying to correct himself. He was ranting about a movie he’d seen recently, with that mutual friend of theirs. He was almost yelling, but it was okay. 

When Karkat got tired, they sat in a bench by a fountain full of dirty pennies. Gamzee propped his cheek in his hand, watching the water, and started telling a story about one time when his brother Kurloz had wished for something with a penny and then it actually fucking came true the next day. Like magic. 

Listening to Gamzee talk was both exactly like reading his too-long messages, and nothing like that at all. Karkat listened. God help him, he listened. There was still milkshake syrup on his tongue. There was a tinny pop song playing over the mall speakers all around them, but it felt like it was coming from far, far away. If they had met even a couple years ago, Karkat might not have given Gamzee’s story the time of day — because what kind of dumbass would he have to be to believe in fountain wishes? — but now, he wanted to pick Gamzee’s arm up and wrap it around himself. Now, he wanted to ask Gamzee to stay over at his apartment and play video games. 

He wanted Gamzee to keep on looking at him like he was important; he wanted Gamzee to stay solid, tangible and ordinary and right in front of him. He wanted to know that even if the rumors _were_ true — even if Gamzee was “terminallyCapricious,” just like his username said — he would be okay. Maybe it was the way Gamzee watched Karkat sneer and scoff and try to pretend he wasn’t about to burst out laughing. Maybe it was the way Gamzee looked absolutely baffled when Karkat said, “Hold still. I’m going to finally take a non-shitty picture of you, okay?” but then his face cracked open into that huge, too-bright smile again. 

“If you wanted a picture of me, all you ever had to do was ask,” Gamzee said. 

And if Karkat wanted to know if Gamzee’d had fun talking with him, all he had to do was ask, too. If he wanted to know whether Gamzee really did get into a horrible fight in middle school, or if he ever got upset thinking people in town said his family made a deal with the Devil ages back, or if he sometimes thought about what it would be like to kiss Karkat, too. All Karkat had to do was ask. But he wasn’t ready for all that yet.

Karkat made that first picture of Gamzee his phone home screen, truth be told. Not the lockscreen — then everyone would’ve been able to see the huge clown looking at him so gently, smiling obediently for the camera under those really unflattering mall lights. Then everyone would’ve been able to know. 

But the home screen... so that once Karkat put his passcode in, once he was safe and alone, there Gamzee was waiting for him. Maybe Karkat would ask Eridan to photograph Gamzee for him properly, one of these days. Not a mermaid photo shoot or anything intense like that. Just... something nice. Something to... oh fuck, it felt so stupid to say. Something to show him off, eventually, if it ever felt right. Even just a couple years ago, Karkat wouldn’t have been able to even fathom a thought like that. He looked back on how he used to make fun of the idea that Gamzee could have any special talents and wanted to scream. 

They had met up a few times, by now. At a park (Gamzee was terrible at playing frisbee with their mutual friend, though unnervingly, surprisingly quick on his feet sometimes), at a coffee shop (Gamzee only ordered sticky sweet pie), and at their mutual friend’s place to watch Karkat’s favorite pile or romcoms. Next, they were going to the beach. Gamzee would be arriving to pick Karkat up any second, in a car his dad bought him with strange old clown-cult money. Gamzee would be arriving soon, and Karkat was trying to choose to trust him. He’d packed some snacks for the road, even; he was only going to complain a little, little bit if Gamzee played gory jester rap in the car. 

Karkat wasn’t going to even _start_ to run, for better or for worse. Not this time.


End file.
